


These Certain Rules

by slightlyjillian



Series: Numbers Alternates [10]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Character Death, Grief, M/M, Second Chances, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mafia AU stand-alone. Wufei grabs his unlikely chance to bring down the Numbers and finds that achieving justice will never be simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Certain Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the 100 Nichol-fics challenge I took on a year ago... only 57 left to go. _ha_

If he had gone home, he would have found potted cactus overturned on the table and a guilty cat hiding in plain sight. If he had gone out to eat with the rest of the detectives, he would have one rum and coke too many. Sally might have driven them both back to her place letting him forget for one evening that he was a widower.

Instead, Wufei straightened his tie and checked his resolve against the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Adjusting his jacket, he pulled the material over his badge. He sighed at the futile gesture. They would make him for a cop as soon as he stepped into the church.

Friday the thirteenth. And when any other person would be enjoying the start of their weekend or hiding from the superstition of the holiday, Trowa Barton arranged to have a funeral.

His own.

***

Wufei had to circle the church twice before he could find a place to park his car in a public lot. Walking the short blocks to his destination, he watched the church doors grow in size like a wide-yawning, horrific mouth that open sideways to swallow the line of people. He had seen the building every time he drove north on the main interstate. The ornate twin steeples, remnants of some bygone architecture, made Wufei somewhat sentimentally attached to the structure. The sight reassured him, _I'm home_. But in such close proximity, he realized he didn't know the place at all.

Uncomfortable among all the strangers at the end of the line, he shivered.

Scanning the faces, Wufei was actually surprised that he didn't recognize anyone. Trowa Barton might have been a crook, but no one had been able to catch him. In the wash, Wufei learned the guy had put in years with the FBI in addition to his sketch artist work for the local force.

Furthermore, the deceased had been given the designation _Three_ among the elaborate underground known as the Numbers. They committed crimes and concealed their work with the same obvious fashion of Wufei's cat. No one had to look away, because everyone already knew. And no one could stop them.

No one _yet_.

Wufei pivoted to watch even more automobiles drive by the church while searching for parking. Across the street and beyond a wrought iron fence, Wufei saw a figure bend and crumple to the ground.

Making a brief shout that startled himself as much as the nearby, grey-haired couple in matching black suits, Wufei stepped away from the sidewalk and quickened his pace through the stalled cars. No one else followed, but Wufei had long become numb to the irritation of public inaction.

Swinging himself around the nearest gate, Wufei jogged up to the figure to find a man wearing a suit and not injured as much as shaking with sobs.

"Are you alright, sir?" Wufei asked, keeping a short distance. He looked away not wanting to see the display of weakness. However, this was the sign of sorrow absolutely missing from the river of people going into the funeral.

Then the sounds changed from ragged breaths into laughter. _Or had it been laughter all along?_ Hysteria?

"Did you come with anyone?" Wufei asked.

"Did I come with…? Damn it," the man swore with subdued tones that were almost gentle. "Did I come with?"

"Are you here for the funeral?" Wufei tried again, still off guard by the surprising emotional shifts from this person. He stayed seated on the curbside grass, legs bent in the lot and his back against the fence. His dark hair had been greased in an effort to control the now recently disheveled curls. Mirroring the tears and laughter, a crooked smile twisted his lips up one cheek and down the other.

"The real funeral isn't here," the man said. "So you've wasted your time if you came to catch Thirteen or Eleven or, hell, Ninety-nine." His wretched expression flip-flopped, ultimately remaining the same. "These people? Those people over there were _hired_ … hired by his sister and Two and Zero and who-cares-who-else in order to honor Trowa or some dumb shit like that."

A breeze from the not-too-distant lake picked up speed in the open space and cooled the sweat along Wufei's neck.

"It's not even his body," the man confided. He rasped and then spit on the grass. "Now who the hell can tell me where his body is? Damn it, if it was his sick joke then I would have a laugh, but Trowa wasn't the sort to cover up or fake his funeral. Dead is dead… dead _was_ dead to him."

He reached into his jacket suddenly and Wufei reacted just before seeing a packet of unopened cigarettes.

"Heh," the man muttered seeing Wufei's instinctive twitch. "Shoot me if you want. But let me try one of these before you do. It was a deal. Whichever one of us went first, the other had to get sick on cigarettes."

Watching as the orange tip seemed spotlight bright in the sudden darkness, Wufei asked, "Were you his partner?"

" _In bed_ ," the man guffawed loudly then coughed. Rubbing at his eyes, he wheezed, "You're not going to arrest me tonight of all nights, are you?" When Wufei remained quiet, the dark-haired man added, "I'm surprised they haven't killed me by now. Some twisted show of respect, but it's only prolonging the torture of waiting. Bastards.

"You know, there was this one girl who made Twenty-one real happy. Cute little thing and completely in the dark about his nightlife cheating on cards," the man took a longer drag with quick-learned success. "They found them both in the bag. Remember that one? Fished out of the river and your buddies having to pick the fleshy bits of Twenty-one from the fleshy bits of that sweet girl."

The man dropped the cigarette and put it out with his shoe. "I wish I could say I didn't know what went down that night."

"Was that you and Trowa…"

"No," the man cut Wufei off immediately. "It wasn't him. That was before… when I still worked for Eleven."

Wufei mulled a long thought. He had nothing to lose. And, strangely enough, neither did this man. So he asked.

***

Five years later, the trials surrounding the conviction of Treize Kushrenada and his closest allies was the nightly news entertainment on every station. Well, every station except those dedicated to children, and even the puppets were holding mock trials for foam numbers that cheated on their sums.

Wufei turned off the television and toweled his hair freshly wet from the hotel shower. The marshals had done a fine job keeping the key witness protected, but they had never lived in a city absolutely governed and policed by a conspiracy. Thinking he knew somewhat better about the situation, he had asked to be the liaison in this case. It had been harder than he'd expected to get the signatures he needed, which was why he'd had to catch only the wink of sleep, too short to even call a nap.

The airport shuttle took him directly from his rented room to the downtown where he met with the WitSec specialists. The brilliant sunshine and perfect temperatures were a startling January contrast to the frosty atmosphere he'd left behind.

"A little overdressed?" the marshal noticed Wufei's quickly discarded scarf and coat.

"I should have packed my sandals," Wufei replied, surprised by his own elated spirits. The upcoming trial fixed the small smile on his face or maybe it was only the weather.

"Hey," Nichol said, amiably toasting Wufei with a Styrofoam coffee mug. "Please tell me that you're going to make sure I'm supplied with the real stuff over the next few months."

"Premium coffee?" Wufei raised his brow. "I'll see what I can do with the budget they gave us. You are still a low-life scum bag after all."

"Yeah, I love you too," Nichol chuckled bitterly. His brow furrowed as he sipped from the cup. "But I'm putting this grievance on my exit survey."

"How have you enjoyed the new life?"

"In this place? Everyone has a gun."

The marshal seemed about to speak when Nichol hastily continued in at a higher volume, "Women ask for them for anniversary gifts and then go practicing on the range. I'm not sure if I feel safer or less safe because of it… but I'm definitely reconsidering how I vote next time." Nichol leaned back, smugly finished with his opinion.

His appearance had not changed much from the person Wufei first met that night of Trowa Barton's funeral. His face still looked as if the softness had been hollowed out and while his hair had been recently cut, the uncontrollable ends twisted out at every angle. He hadn't even gained a tan.

"So you don't think women should have guns?" Wufei tried not to let his own bias show. He'd been verbally undercut for saying less when he meant it more.

Nichol's smile disappeared. "I didn't say that." He looked away at some point near the wall where the second marshal leaned.

"Alright, gentlemen. Let's go over the paperwork once more before the lawyers get here."

***

"It's a nice car, right?" Nichol grinned, obviously enjoying the wind against his face. They had turned into a modest neighborhood that seemed to magically transport them from the eight lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic only three minutes away.

Wufei pulled into the driveway as indicated and cut the engine. Holding the keys out to their owner, he reluctantly confessed, "Thanks for letting me drive."

"Yeah, I saw you looking at her. Not that I blame you at all," Nichol hopped out and practically preened at his own reflection against the spotless black. "I spent every penny of my hard-work earnings on this piece of comfort. With all the extras, it practically drives itself."

"Well," Wufei had to look away from that carefree smile. "You obviously didn't spend any of the cash on your house." On the otherwise quaint street, this home was the eyesore. Although, it was obvious Nichol had tried to fix the gutter from the amount of duct tape wrapped around the dilapidated frame.

"When it rains here… it _pours_ ," Nichol said as an excuse. He fidgeted with the keys until he found the right one for the door.

"Don't you… do something for your car?" Wufei asked.

"Oh yes," Nichol grinned. Then they both heard a brief beep as the doors locked. "The neighbors know not to touch my car."

"Afraid you'll shoot them?"

Nichol scoffed, "I don't need a gun."

***

For a brief time during his marriage, Wufei found something like happiness. He hesitated to call it 'happiness' _exactly_ because his heart ached when he caught Meilan smiling at him. In time, the trepidation washed away to become something more polished--as polished as true love could be between two flawed and imperfect people.

He had snapped at her more than once, fighting the way she had caused him to grow content in their life together. Infuriating as always, she would mouth the words, "I understand." But her sympathy didn't console the moments he felt ashamed for proposing or the way his parents had sighed in relief.

"All that negative talk about women, it was a phase," his mother had said to him during a private moment at the wedding.

"She said that to you?" Nichol asked quietly, not opening his eyes. They both should have been sleeping. The bed had long become warm with them in it, but Wufei couldn't make himself tired, as exhaustion only seemed to make him more alert.

"Of course, now I realized that I was more afraid of the things I saw in myself that weren't so much different than the women I criticized," Wufei confided.

" _Some_ differences," smiled the older man with a drowsy softness. Nichol drifted in and out of sleep.

For six months, Wufei had resisted the notion that he felt something more than gratitude for the man who agreed to give up everything for the one thing Wufei thought he could never have. Justice.

He hadn't expected to be left so open, so vulnerable in the aftermath. When the dreams of frustrated passion suddenly took on the faces of Treize Kushrenada or even Milliardo Peacecraft, Wufei had just barely avoided a trip to the ER for broken knuckles. He could still find the damage to his wall, a reminder of his own blindness.

"I wonder if I ever really learn anything," Wufei continued, suspecting that Nichol no longer was listening. "Running away from what I want. Feeling absolutely defenseless when I _indulge in_ what I want and this guilt." He leaned up on his arm. Nichol's eyes were definitely closed and the man's lips had slipped open to pull in peacefully deep breaths. Wufei continued, "Are we supposed to be happy again? Still, I don't think it's with you… I shouldn't have…"

Wufei flipped so that he could stare, all too awake, in the opposite directly. For a moment, he imagined that he'd stayed in his own bed and was there even now. That he'd never accepted Nichol's coy banter about the most satisfying relationships developing 'under duress'. Then, perhaps, the cutting silence of his conscience would be less condemning.

None of his inner turmoil relaxed until the bedsheets shifted and Wufei let himself be pulled into Nichol's passive embrace. A nose tucked in against his shoulder blade.

 _This has to be what moves us both into whatever comes next,_ Wufei hoped just as the arms of sleep surrounded him as well.

***

Oddly enough, the press loved Danil Nichol. Flanked by security and the coaching lawyer, Nichol blushed attractively and ran a finger along his brow as if bewildered by all the positive attention. Whatever speculation the editors ran on the benefits of the Numbers while intact, they all labeled the gruff witness with the words _brave_ and _hero_.

Wufei could almost imagine that the man was safe and that they might be able to explore some sort of ordinary life. But the marshals were on a schedule and, even though no one had exposed their illicit relationship, Wufei wasn't entering the program.

Nichol had to understand the affair was ending too. While the man appeared meek to the public, he was rather expert at troublesome boyfriends.

"He definitely cleans up nice." A nearby voice observed. Wufei didn't realize it was directed at him until the person spoke again. "I should thank you for taking care of him for me, but I can't say I'm completely _pleased_ with your definition of _how…_ "

The words Wufei failed to utter were 'Trowa Barton.'

The taller man offered a hand to shake. A length of time later, he raked the rejected fingers of the same hand through his hair and bashfully grinned. "I suppose I should be grateful that he chose to be monogamous after my demise…"

Wufei surveyed his options, but the public was too close and the police too far away. Trowa had chosen his entry point quite specifically.

"So you let him think you were dead?" Wufei crossed his arms.

Trowa tilted his head as if considered that consequence for the first time. "I might have reclaimed him sooner, but you got to him so quickly. I have to admit, I'm impressed with how you've used my Nichol."

"I didn't…" Wufei clenched his teeth. "You should be on trial here today."

"Ah, but I'm dead," Trowa shook his head. "And let us agree that the sole instigation of your success hinged on his grief. For me."

"He's not _yours_ ," Wufei surged with protectiveness when looking back at where--in a rather dazzling fashion--Nichol laughed, along with the crowd of press, at something he'd said. "There's nothing left of you. It's my name he says…"

"Nichol's always been very exact about getting that detail right," Trowa nodded as if they were engaged in a mutually agreeable discussion. "Part of his survival instincts and so finely practiced, I'm sure he's unaware..."

A passing cloud cut the sunlight from them, but Trowa seemed to glow with supernatural appreciation in contrast to Wufei's own dark thoughts. He was caught. To speak now, to say anything to identify the man with him was to put Nichol at risk. The thought that he would choose the reputation of another person, it certainly was not his own he feared losing, rather than _justice_ left him feeling as drift-less as when he'd lost Meilan. As confused as when he'd torn into Nichol with twenty-seven years of repressed desire.

"This will go much more smoothly if you admit that _you never loved him_ ," Trowa said brightly without emphasis on the edge of his threat. "I daresay that what you took into that bed wasn't Nichol."

The observation stank of manipulation, which Wufei could resist if nothing else. He resolutely set his jaw.

"I suppose I can't begrudge you the attraction," Trowa chuckled, "Shall we both call over our pet and see to whom he responds?"

Wufei might have released his reply with the strike of his fist, except when he looked again Trowa Barton had disappeared almost as if he'd never been.

***

The report dropped on his desk at the same time his office phone rang. Recognizing the long-distance number, Wufei chose the direct call first. He turned slightly away from the room to gain some small measure of privacy facing the nearby wall. Nichol's marshals didn't need to call except in one situation…

"He's dead?" Wufei interrupted the greeting.

"What? No…" the marshal's tone inflected surprise. "At least, I hope not. We haven't found a body."

 _Trowa found him…_ Wufei pressed his fingers into his temples. Was that worse? He wasn't certain. "When did he bolt?"

"Hard to say… so happens his neighbors really liked the guy, so they were quite mysterious about the details. He ditched the car, but we found it. I don't think a dead guy gives his car away to a seventy year-old woman who only keeps it as an ornament in his memory…"

"I guess not," Wufei huffed again. Just like Nichol to protect his own interest in the ownership of that car. He thanked the marshal and pulled up his electronic file to make the appropriate log when he remembered the report.

"Who left me this?" Wufei said loudly, but no one took responsibility. The few brave enough to meet his stare shrugged and turned away. He flipped over the document, scanned the front sheet and slowly turned to the proposed identity of the deceased. Everything around him seemed to be swallowed in trepidation.

 _"Ah, but I'm dead."_

The sudden recollection of Trowa's words crawled over Wufei's skin like a swarm of pests. The documented listed a likely DNA match, confirmed against samples taken during the routine clean up of Trowa Barton's abandoned apartment. Age, gender, estimated time of death all matched to the body found buried in a remote airport field.

"I suppose you want me to investigate this," Wufei grumbled to no one in particular.

***

Wufei seldom used his service pistol, but when he opened his apartment door and saw an upright cactus plant he immediately had his weapon in hand. Shenlong darted into the room and, purring loudly, tangled between his feet. The intruder hadn't even tried to hide his presence. An open suitcase could be seen in the bedroom from along the hallway. Then Wufei heard a thump from the kitchen and a mild string of curses.

He knew that voice.

"So you just let yourself in?" Wufei said as he rounded the corner. Nichol, visibly startled, dropped the bag of onions again, this time on the floor.

"Hey," Nichol's cheeks turned pink, but not from anger. He took a quick step then hesitated as he came closer. "I spent my life cracking locks." His eye twitched as he tried not to seem hesitant. "Didn't even think twice."

"I should have given you a key."

"Maybe I should have called, but I thought… what?" Nichol added the last with a belated, three-second smile until his face went blank with uncertainty.

"Too much time picking the lock and someone might have recognized you," Wufei tried a joke, which failed as Nichol seemed to seriously consider the idea. Letting the doubt linger, Wufei wondered at his own reactions to seeing Nichol again. He hadn't expected a second chance, let alone an opportunity. But just then, and with the lingering presence of Trowa Barton goading him on, Wufei realized that he enjoyed seeing Nichol happy. In front of the press, spending too much on a ridiculous car, or damn well spent on his bed.

The man had earned his pardon. Who was Wufei to deny Nichol that _justice_?

It was a new idea.

Whatever came next, this part was all too easy, as thoughtless and exhilarating as breathing. Wufei leaned against the counter and enjoyed the view. Nichol, catching on, crossed his arms and the blush swelled briefly before retreating.

"I thought I'd make dinner," Nichol said, blandly but happy. Wufei nodded, but didn't move as Nichol set about to do as he said.

"Someday, you'll have to tell me…" Wufei began, only hesitating when Nichol's shoulders went tense. He added, "Let me finish."

"Okay, what?" Nichol let out a nervous laugh.

"It's this blasted cat of mine. She seems to actually like you…"


End file.
